Solitude
by sondragonfly
Summary: Conversations between Julian Sark and Sydney Bristow during Sark's interim stay in Federal custody between Seasons 2 and 3. Impossible, you say? Slightly Sarkney. Assume spoilers in reviews. COMPLETE.
1. The First Six Months

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Alias or anything resembling Alias. Alias belongs to JJ Abrams, ABC, Bad Robot, etc.. I'm jealous.

**Author's Note:** The following story after the prologue (which is entitled "The First Six Months") is a disjointed and anachronistic account of the conversations Julian Sark had with a certain Sydney Bristow during his time in federal custody after Season 2. _But, Sondra,_ you say, _that's not possible because Sydney was captured by the Covenant and is forced to live as Julia Thorne during the periodthe sexy Julian Sark was imprisoned._ To which I would reply, _Yes, that is interesting, isn't it? Here's a cookie. _Enjoy.

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**The First Six Months**

_I don't know how long I was imprisoned before Sydney Bristow began visiting me. Probably more than six months. Yes, I distinctly remember waking up five times with my head newly shorn. The first month I had almost managed to stab the agent assigned to shave my head with the blunt end of my spoon; and so, every month preceding that little incident, they first secreted sleeping gas into my cell._

_By that time all the major players had given up. Agent Vaughn ceased interrogating me after three months. Much too short, if you ask me. Then again, what he lacked in longevity he made up for in pure hatred. I missed our little talks where he'd accuse me of all sort of outrageous crimes—many of them true, I admit, but still outrageous—and I would come back with a retort that would bring forth his signature scowl._

_Jack Bristow kept on me for another two months after Agent Vaughn faded away into obscurity. But his continuous questioning soon ended after Agent Dixon was promoted. What an incredibly ridiculous move on the part of the CIA. It never ceases to amaze me how gullible that agency can be, promoting to the head of their LA division a former low-ranking agent of a defunct terrorist cell. Americans._

_I was alone in my ten by fifteen prison cell for a month. The only company I received was from a random agent that would deliver food to me via a drawer in the wall, in much the same way of "Silence of the Lambs." Another similarity I shared with Dr. Lector was the glass window which faced a blank wall. However, I could not smell anything through the glass, which was rather unfortunate. I think it would have been unnerving to the agent delivering food if I complimented their choice of cologne._

_The solitude, in short, drove me insane._

_In that first week of my month of lonely tedium I sang. While I did my ritualistic exercises, lying on my cold metal bed, or even in between bites of my two meals per day, I sang every song I knew. They were songs I heard on the radio, in movies, commercials, operas.Anything I could even partially remember, I sang with gusto._

_On the second week, I recited poetry. Shakespeare, Browning, Sappho, Whitman, Poe, Blake, Silverstein. All the poems I remembered from my readings and even some I remembered from my unusual and sporadic schooling. I recited everything I could remember, and then I translated it in my head into French, German, and Russian, and recited them again._

_I told myself stories on the third week. Masterpieces and pulp fiction. I recounted the tales of Dorian Grey, the Bennett sisters, Ishmael, Harry Potter and the unfortunate Baudelaire children. I even went over as many episodes of the Simpsons as I could remember._

_By the fourth week, my internal monologue ceased. Every random thought passing through my head was voiced just to break up the relentless silence pounding between the walls of my cinderblock cell. Lying flat on my back on my bed—I ceased working out, at this point—I talked and talked and talked, until my throat grew hoarse and my teeth chaffed against the insides of my cheeks, drawing blood._

_I woke up one day, not being able to tell, of course, whether it was night or day. I did know, however, that I had survived the month, because my head was newly shorn. Running my hand over my head tentatively, I heard a voice speak up._

_"I think it suits you," the voice said in a clipped, completely barbaric American accent. I turned my head, and there she sat on the other side of the room, on the metal bench attached to the wall._

_"Sydney?"_


	2. The First Day

**Disclaimer:** See Prologue.

**A/N:** This is the only chapter that is in its proper order; that is, must be read after the prologue. The following chapters is a disjointed (and out of order, I might add) account of conversations held within the walls of Mr. Julian Sark's cell during his time in federal custody. Enjoy.

* * *

"You look like a Neo Nazi," she answered. "With your blonde hair and blue eyes, you could be a poster child for Hitler's Youth." 

"What the hell are you doing here?"

She smirked. "Are you begrudging the company? I thought you'd appreciate some after suffering through hell last month. Can you imagine a lifetime of that, Sark?"

He could, and it was a bleak thought. He lay back in bed, staring at the ceiling. "Are you here to interrogate me like your father and your dear Agent Vaughn?"

"I don't have to. I was there, remember?"

"So I've heard."

"I killed your girlfriend. Did you know that?"

"Yes, your Agent Vaughn was kind enough to share that tidbit of information with me, thank you."

"Were you upset? Did you cry?"

Her questions irritated him. "No, I didn't cry, Agent Bristow. Allison had a job to do, and she failed. She knew what the risks were. She knew the consequences."

"Were you upset when you found out she was screwing Will Tippin?"

"_What the hell are you getting at, Bristow?"_ He sat up and turned to face her, but she was gone.


	3. The Way Of the World

**Disclaimer:** See Prologue.

* * *

"I asked about you during the interrogation, you know. But they never told me anything about you."

"I'm not going to either. There is nothing about me that concerns you."

"Of course it doesn't. I mean, honestly, it's not as though I've been locked in a cell for the better part of a year being interrogated with questions that all appear to revolve around you." He looked at her. "You're all anyone talks about, but no one seems to know why."

"You're a clever boy, Julian. Why don't you figure it out?"

"I tried to when your Agent Vaughn was beating my head against the wall. I've given up on that particular pastime, thank you."

"He shouldn't have done that. It's not government sanctioned."

"Yes, well, we all do things we're not supposed to, don't we, Sydney? You become a double agent and take down SD-6. I make one mistake and get imprisoned. It's the way of the world."

"What mistake did you make, Sark?"

"A bloody foolish one. My back was to the wall, and I made a bargain with the CIA. I suppose I thought they would be lenient at the time, as I did give them information as to the whereabouts of a certain Arvin Sloane."

"Nothing excuses the atrocities you've done."

"I've assassinated leaders of multiple terrorist organizations! I should be given a bloody medal for what I've done."

"And all before the age of thirty?" she answered wryly. "I'm impressed."

He shrugged. "I've always been ambitious."

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	4. The Certainty

**Disclaimer:** See Prologue

* * *

"Did you know that on the eastern wall—I'm assuming it's east, of course, since I have no window to gauge the sun by—on the eastern wall there are 154 cinderblocks? On the west it's the same. There's 260 blocks on the northern wall. But on the south, it's different because of the observation window and whatnot. There are only 213 blocks on that wall. Did you know that, Sydney? Did you?"

A pause. "I'm sorry, Julian."

"You say that to me entirely too much, Bristow."

"I can't help it. I mean it though."

"I know. You've never lied to me."

"…Yet."

"What?"

"I haven't lied to you _yet_."

"You won't."

"How would you know?"

"I just do."

"Cocky bastard."

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	5. The Reason She's Here

**Disclaimer:** See Prologue.

* * *

"Having fun, Sark?" 

"Bite me, Bristow."

"So mature, Julian."

He narrowed his eyes warily. "I don't recall ever telling you my first name."

She smiled mysteriously. "I know a lot about you, Julian. More than you realize."

"If you already know so much, what the hell are you here for?"

"Because you need me."

"Bullshit."

"You do. I can see it in your eyes; the hollow of your cheeks. I can see it in the tint of your skin. Much paler than I remember."

"Yes, well, it appears that prison life doesn't exactly agree with my constitution."

"You weren't meant to be in a cage."

"That's funny coming from someone who has always been out to put me in one."

"You know as well asI do that you would rather lose your freedom to me than some random CIA lackey. It's not humiliating that way. It's almost honorable isn't, Julian? The best capturing the best."

"For someone who always nags me about my big head, you seem to have a healthy dose of self-esteem yourself, Sydney."

A grimace. "Cut from the same cloth, aren't we, Mr. Sark?"

"I'm glad we understand each other, Agent Bristow."

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	6. The Score

**Disclaimer:** See Prologue.

**A/N:** Thanks to Verity Kindle, Claire, c j tiesto (btw, that's an excellent question), and alexx for the reviews! And also to my cousin Jan who doesn't review here, but goes through the whole story and nit picks through it, IMing me every little detail. Thanks for everything, even if you don't really watch Alias. No one's perfect.

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"I've always admired you, Agent Bristow." 

She smirked, a mirror image of his own signature facial expression. "You like girls who can kick your ass, Sark?"

"I like girls who can send an ice-pick through my leg without flinching."

"I always knew you were a masochist."

"I've never hid the fact that, at times, I absolutely love my job."

"As what? A glorified messenger boy?"

He raised an eyebrow. "At least I've always known who I worked for. I never suffered quaint little delusions that I was somehow making the world a better place."

"Of course you didn't," she snapped. "You don't care about anyone but yourself."

"And at the end of the day, I'm satisfied with the knowledge that I've served my master well and faithfully."

"Then I'm glad this cell suits your master's standards," she hissed,"because I'm sure you'll grace its walls for quite some time."

"…._Ouch_. I can't remember the last time one of yourverbal darts actually caused casualties."

"Don't pretend to have feelings, Sark. You're not good at it."

In mock outrage, "Of course I have feelings! I felt that ice-pick in my leg, didn't I? I have a splendid scar now, thanks to you."

"I do feel terrible about that leg."

He shrugged. "You did your job. Besides, I was kind of a bastard about breaking up the ice while you were still on it, so we're even."

"We are in no way close to even, Sark."

A short laugh. "So, who's ahead, then? You or me?"

"I don't know."

He shook his head, the corner of his mouth curling up. "Haven't you learned anything, Sydney? In this game we play, no one ever does."

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	7. The Only Rule

**Disclaimer:** See Prologue.

**A/N:** The episode referred to in this chapter is "Rendezvous" (S1.21). The song is from the show—the song that Sydney sang to Sark and Khasinau to distract them and get a recording of Khasinau's heartbeat. Oh, and I slightly changed the name of this fan fic. It's now called "Solitude." I don't know if it makes much difference to you guys, but I changed it for something that's coming up... I think... Anyway, thanks everyone for reviewing!

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"I dream about that night in Paris." 

"Do you?" she asked smiling.

"In the club with Khasinau. I recognized you immediately, of course. You put too much trust in your disguises. I still don't understand your penchant for red wigs, Sydney." He smiled in remembrance. "You ran your hand up my chest and neck. You were singing…

"_You made me leave my happy home  
you took my love and now you're gone  
since I fell for you  
my life brings such misery and pain  
__I know I'll never be the same  
since I fell for you  
it's too bad and it's too sad  
But I'm in love with you..."_

"I can't believe you remember that!" she said, laughing, a delightful ringing sound. "I would have made an excellent lounge singer, I think, if I hadn't been recruited by SD-6," she teased.

"I absolutely agree. You would have been excellent at whatever you do." He reached for her hand, but she drew back, suddenly serious.

"You can't, Julian."

"Why not?"

"Because I won't be able to come back if you do."

"That is a ridiculous rule," he spat.

She shrugged. "But it's the rule, the only rule."

"I don't give a damn about the bloody rule, Sydney."

"But you won't break it. You won't because you need me too much."

He smirked at her. "Do I now?"

"Yes."

"And why do you think that is, Dr. Freud?" he returned sarcastically.

She smiled at him sadly. "Because I keep you sane."

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	8. The Firsts

**Disclaimer:** See Prologue.

**A/N:** I don't read the Alias books (you know, the ones about her being an agent in SD-6 before the whole "Danny Incident," so if those mention her _actual_ first, I don't know about it. Anyway, thanks to all for reviewing and encouraging. You make it feel like Christmas.

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"Tell me about your first, Sydney." 

"That's disgusting, Sark."

"Well, humor me, please. I have no access to the outside world and to any sort of entertainment. I must work with what I have. Now if you would oblige me…" He gestured for her to continue.

She glared at him. "If I tell you mine, than you have to tell me yours."

"Naturally, it's only fair."

"Fine then. I was twenty. Newly field trained, and it was in one of my first missions."

"Things got a little carried away, I presume?"

"Well, it wasn't on my list of things-to-do," she snapped.

"Who was he? Do you even remember?"

"Of course! What do you think I am, a monster?"

He quirked an eyebrow at her response.

She sighed. "He was thirty-four. Middle management for a Paraguayan drug cartel. I was sent in because he had backstabbed the CIA—well, _Sloane_, I mean. He had a wife, twenty-six years old, and two daughters, five and three."

"A family man? Sydney, I'm surprised. I didn't think your high morals would allow you to do that."

"It's not something I'm proud of." She threw him a dirty look. "Your turn."

"Mine was affluent. Had three yachts, houses all over the Mediterranean and England. It happened in England. You see, the fool sold Irina false information, leading to the death of one of her operatives. The man was sixty-eight. I was seventeen."

"_Seventeen?"_ she asked, clearly shocked. He nodded, face impassive. "What was it? A sniper rifle?"

"A knife."

She shook her head, stunned. "Damn Irina."

He shrugged, giving her a half smile. "It was training. Do you remember how after riding the highest, fastest roller coaster in the park first, all the other rides don't even scare you? It's like that. She told me that I had to kill with a knife first off, so then all the other kills would come easily."

"Did it work?"

He let out a short bark of laughter. "Not one bloody bit."

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	9. The Turning Point

**Disclaimer:** See Prologue.

**A/N:** Agent Pheonix: this story is strictly Sarkney-centric (oOo… sibilance :-P). The only way another character appears in this story is if they're mentioned by Sark or Syd. Also, remember that these little conversations aren't in chronological order except for the first conversation and the last that is yet to come. Thanks to everyone for reviewing, I look forward to those reviews as much as you look forward to this story, which, I hope, is a lot. Enjoy! P.S. The following chapter is rated for language. I never speak this way, but I can't say the same for Mr. Sark.

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"So you're back, are you?" 

"Clearly."

"This is the seventh time you've showed up. To which of my numerous crimes should I attribute such an impressive show of devotion?"

"I'm not here for the CIA, Sark."

"What then? Are you here for your own bloody amusement?"

"No."

"That's it? I get nothing else from you? But of course... you're the great Sydney Bristow, the ultra spy, the keeper of secrets, the Chosen One—god, how I hate that man."

"Who?"

"Rambaldi."

She smirked. "Tell me about it."

"Then again, without him, I would be several million dollars poorer."

"In blood money."

"Money is money."

She didn't respond.

He gave her a sideways glance. "Today's my birthday."

"How can you tell?"

"I counted. Haircuts help me keep track." He sneered. "Do you think the guards will surprise me with a present on the way to the showers, Agent Bristow?"

"I've never seen you bitter before, Sark. Cynical, yes. Sarcastic, arrogant, deceitful. But never bitter."

"Been in here too long. Too bloody long. You know, I've forgotten what chocolate tastes like."

"Didn't know you like chocolate."

"I don't really. But how bloody long does it take to forget _chocolate?_" He shook his head. "I hate this place. More than any other place I've ever had the misfortune of visiting. Even that bloody glacier in the middle of bloody nowhere is better than this hellhole—and that's _after_ you drove the ice-pick through my leg."

"I'm sorry, Julian."

"Stop saying that! Of all things, I don't need your fucking pity!"

"Sark, you'll get through this--"

_"Just shut up, Sydney._ Bloody hell! Leave me alone for _one fucking minute!"_

The sound of his harsh breathing filled the room. After a few heated moments...

"Velvet."

_"What?"_

"It taste like velvet. Smooth and rich. Depending on what type, it can be sweet and sharp. Tangy, salty. It coats your entire mouth in warmth. It draws a blissful moan from your lips. I like dark chocolate the best. It's bittersweet. Like reality. Like life... That's what chocolate tastes like."

A pause. A smile. "Thank you, Sydney."

Softly, "Happy birthday, Julian."

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	10. The Shades Of Gray

**Disclaimer:** See Prologue (what is now Chapter 1: The First Six Months).

**A/N:** I just finished up my second week of college and am starting the third (I'm such a sad first year...). This is why I haven't been updating. My sincere apologies for the wait. I was just as anxious for Sark and Sydney as you all are. The last chapter is coming up soon—just a warning. Thank you to everyone for reviewing.

:For Andy, who is _my_ Julian:

* * *

"Do you know what's pitiful, Bristow?"

She leaned forward. "This ought to be good…" she teased.

His mouth was set in a wry smile. "The highlight of my day is when they take me out—in chains, no less—and give me ten minutes to shower and brush my teeth. The highlight of my week is when they give me a razor to shave with."

"I'm surprised they're not worried about you trying to slit your wrists," she replied only half-jokingly.

"The razor is so dull, I'd need three hours to get a decent flow going," he deadpanned, as though he'd already considered it. "I bleed more from the nicks I get trying to shave properly with a disposable."

"Randomness today."

"Randomness is all I have left."

"Well, you have me, don't you?" she said with a smile.

"Bristow, I will never have you. You are too engrossed in the little fantasy world you have with Agent Vaughn." He let out a derisive snort. "I really don't understand what you see in your boy scout."

"I count that as a good thing, Sark."

"He's too good for you, Syd."

"Well, thanks for the flattery…"

"That's not what I meant. I mean, he doesn't _understand_ you. He sees the world in black and white, while you and I both know that the world comes in all shades of gray."

_"I love Vaughn."_

"And yet you're here with me."

"Don't even think it."

"Why not?"

"You and I can never be together, Julian. I don't think I could ever really forgive what you did to my friends. Hell, you _tortured_ Will. And then what happened to Francie…"

"Will was a job. Even you must understand what that means. And Francie…I had nothing to do with Francie's death, Sydney. I was brought in after the fact."

"It doesn't matter anymore. She's dead."

"Yes, she is…" A sigh. "Syd, I'm sorry for everything."

She gave him a half-smile. "That's the first time I've ever heard you say that, Julian. This is a really big step for us."

"Well, damn it, you don't have to rub it in," he grumbled, crossing his arms. He gave her a sideways look. "Turning into a veritable boy scout, aren't I?"

Sydney laughed. "Not quite, Sark… but, despite everything, I think you're getting there."

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	11. The Game

**Disclaimer: **See Chapter One: The First Six Months (formerly known as the Prologue).

**A/N**: This is definitely the second to last installment to this story; that is, the last chapter will be up shortly. I didn't plan on posting, or even writing, this chapter. I had the last one ready to go, but I wrote this in between (and a little during) classes, and I felt that it was important in understanding the Sark/Sydney relationship... well, at least Sark's view of it. Also, thank you from the bottom of my heart to all my faithful reviewers. Your words keep me going. Much love.

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"This is the last time I'm going to ask you, Bristow." 

"You'll understand soon enough, Sark. Let's not rush it."

"Ah, yes. According to the CIA, I have the rest of my life to sit here and not rush it."

"'According to the CIA'? You have other plans, I pressume?"

"Irina will come for me."

He could see her attempt to keep her face straight. "You have so much faith in a woman like that?"

A smirk. "It must kill you that I know your mother better than you do."

A smirk. "It must kill you that she hasn't come yet."

His jaw clenched involuntarily. "She has her reasons."

"She's abandoned you."

"Believe what you want, but I know Irina. We are exactly the same. I'm the son she never had—a child after her own heart."

"You trust a woman willing to abandon her own child? Who uses any means necessary to gain her end? A woman loyal only to herself?"

He let out a short bark of laughter. "Like I said, Irina and I are _exactly_ the same."

"_You_ didn't break her out of prison."

"Well, she _wanted_ to be in here," he spat bitterly. "She wanted to get to know _you_."

Sark shook his head angrily. He didn't want to think of that year Irina was imprisoned. He had felt so… lost.

"I was jealous of you growing up. Did you know that, Agent Bristow? Of course you didn't. I've never told anyone. Not even Irina, although she probably already knows. Probably fostered it."

She remained silent, watching him.

"Growing up, Irina would always talk about you. 'Sydney's already mastered three languages. Sydney can run a mile in five minutes flat. _Sydney is the fucking Virgin Mary incarnate.'"_

He glared at her. "You have always been my rival. The one I competed against. The one I pushed myself to defeat, even before you knew me. I was pleased when I realized we were on opposite sides of this game we play. Pleased because I knew that I would eventually have my opportunity to finally defeat you, mayhap even kill you.

"I had my chance one day. I had caught you unaware. You didn't even realize I was there. I had my gun trained right on your heart..."

"Why didn't you pull the trigger?" she said into the silence, startling him.

He sighed, a bitter smile on his lips. "Because then I realized that if I did, I would have had nothing in life to look forward to. My life would have no meaning. Don't you see, Agent Bristow? Irina and I may be the same, but you and I… well, we keep the balance. And if I had killed you, the game would be over."

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	12. The Revelation

**Disclaimer:** See Prologue (what is now Chapter 1: The First Six Months).

**A/N:** The thing that is terrifying about ending a story is that you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that at least one of your readers will absolutely _hate_ your ending--and consequently _you_, the author. Everyone has their own ideas abouthow the story should end, and so what you see written here is simply _my _version. If you just flat out detest my ending, pretend that I never posted it. Thank you to my faithful reviewers/encouragers, especially alexx, aliaslover14, Karone Evertree, SuP3R G1R, southerncross, JuliaAtHeart, cj tiesto, and Agent Pheonix for sticking with this strange and often confusing tale. I am never without a smile when I read your messages.

The following chapter is the last in Solitude, starting with an objective conversation, and shifting to Sark's POV (in _italics_). On a final note, I leave you all with this: whatever you may have thought of the story, you must remember this: Solitude never was an AU to begin with. Much love, Sondra.

* * *

_She kept her promise to me; _my_ Sydney, that is. She was there whenever I needed her, whenever I felt that I would crack. She was right: she kept me sane. She saved me. _

_xxx_

"Sydney?"

"Yes, Julian?"

A deep breath. "You're not real."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you don't exist. You're not really here talking to me. You're just something I made up, so I can deal with the tedium, the darkness… the solitude. The real Sydney Bristow died. You're not real."

"Of course I'm not," she answered, shrugging. "But then, you've always known that, Julian. Jack Bristow told you that I was in the fire at my apartment. He told you that they had identified my remains. Don't you remember?"

"Yes… but I didn't want to."

She smiled at him, almost comfortingly. "I know."

The silence stretched out like a mile between them. Finally, he spoke.

"Sydney?"

"Yes, Julian?"

His voice broke. "…Don't—don't leave me, all right?"

"Don't worry, Julian. I won't."

_xxx_

_She kept her promise to me; _my_ Sydney, that is. She was there whenever I needed her, whenever I felt that I would crack. She was right: she kept me sane. She saved me. _

_Sydney stopped coming a few months later when Agent Dixon—or Director Dixon, presumably—came and told me I was to be traded, like a cheap baseball card, to a new terrorist group called The Covenant. My stomach clenched when I heard the name, a name I had heard whispered in the corners of dark clubs, discussed in seedy alleyways. A name that was only a rumour two years ago…_

_I was left alone for a long time then, but I didn't mind. I would be free soon, albeit in the clutches of what could be a dangerous enemy, but at least I would be free from these walls, and uninterrupted silence._

_It was only a few days, maybe a week, before the unbelievable happened once again: Sydney Bristow walked back into my life._

"_I wanted a word before you get traded." I could only look on in shock. This was actually Sydney Bristow. Not _my_ Sydney, she couldn't be. She stood safely behind the glass window in the empty corridor, safe away from my touch. She was as untouchable as my Sydney had been, but _my _Sydney never stood outside the glass window, watching me, judging me. _

"_Dear God," I finally say, "It can't possibly be you."_

"_Don't start this conversation by acting surprised that I'm alive."_

_I almost laugh at her words. "Sydney, you know how highly I regard your abilities as an operative, but…even I didn't think you were capable of cheating death once your remains had been identified… which begs the question: if it wasn't your body they removed from the ashes, whose was it?" I stand, asking myself the same question._

"_I read the transcripts of your confession... including the fact that you and a woman named Allison Doren killed my friend Francie."_

'_But you know all about Allison,' I almost tell her, 'and Francie, don't you remember? I told you.' But of course she wouldn't remember. I didn't tell her. I didn't tell her anything. Carefully, painfully, I put on the façade of the only way she knew me: cold, distant, sarcastic Mr. Sark._

"_If you've read my transcript," I sniff, "you know how cooperative I've been. I'll be glad to pay you the same courtesy if you simply tell me what you're getting at."_

_She looks at me as though she's looking at a bug. My Sydney never looked at me like that. I suddenly grew very cold._

"_That explosion in my apartment was a cover up…to make the CIA believe I was dead. What I believe is that Sloane abducted me. I think you know why, but you failed to mention that in your confession."_

'_I've already confessed everything to you, Syd. You just weren't alive to hear it.' Instead, I smirk at her through the glass wall of my cell. "If I'm to understand what you're saying, you have no idea where you've been for the last two years." Has it really been that long?_

_She remains silent. "None?" I goad._

_I laugh when she shoots me a dirty look that is completely her own. "Unbelievable!" I say, still reeling from what she has revealed. I chuckle again for good measure. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to laugh," I tell her. She's seething behind the glass. "It's just… I'm speechless."_

"_Sydney," I say, shrugging, falling easily into the easy banter I shared with her during our two years 'together', "if Sloane had intended to abduct you, I wasn't privy to it"._

_She glares at me. I stare back openly. I still can't believe that she's actually standing before me, alive, and whole. Then, I feel my stomach drop as I realize: she would no longer be my Sydney. Technically, she never was. From this day forward, we would be enemies again, on opposite sides of the glass, on opposite sides of the game. Her presence here now was evidence of that. To her, I was always her enemy, and I always would be._

"_What if I said I still don't believe you?" she pursues._

_In true villain fashion, just as she expected I would do, I smirk at her, cocking an eyebrow. In her case, it kills me, but I always play the role I'm assigned._

"_I'd say it'd make no difference," I tell her, injecting as much smug self assurance as I can into my words. Words meant to hurt her._

"_In twenty four hours," I continue, "I'll be free. And you…you'll remain in the dark." I have to bite the insides of my cheek to avoid calling out to her, to tell her I don't mean to hurt her. To tell her that I love—no. I can't. Never._

_I'm sorry, Sydney. This is a bloody way of paying you back for what you've done for me, but then again, I do have to realize that it never was _you_. There never was _"us."_ There was only that cell, and the silence, and the solitude._

Fin.


End file.
